


The Power He Knows Not

by BenAndWaffles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenAndWaffles/pseuds/BenAndWaffles
Summary: The War was lost, and the Dark Lord ruled the Wizarding World with fire and blood.Now, Jon and Robb Stark, twin sons of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, are set to attend Hogwarts, where they will learn much more than just magic and have to decide where their allegiance lies. One thing is certain, the Starks can be neutral no longer.





	1. Darkness Descending

A loud and persistent knocking disturbed the silence of the halls of Winterfell, causing its three occupants to tense. Though the wards kept the manor concealed from unwanted visitors, their enemies were strong and had already taken the lives of too many of their loved ones.

Eddard Stark gripped his wand tightly and jumped to his feet. “Stay here,” he told his wife and younger brother. “If it’s an attack, take the Portkey to Riverrun.”

Neither Catelyn nor Benjen looked happy with his words. In fact, his wife looked downright angry at the insinuation that she couldn’t take care of herself, but he didn’t give them a chance to argue. Besides, Catelyn would remember soon enough the very important reason why she especially needed to escape if there were danger.

“Ned!” a muffled cry came from the door. A cry he instantly recognized as it called out for “Benjy!” and “Cat!” as well.

“Lyanna!” he exclaimed, breaking out of his slow, cautious creep to rush towards the door and throw it open.

His younger sister looked more pale and frightened than he had ever seen her as she shivered on the doorstep, staring up at him with painful relief for a moment before she all but slumped into his arms. Later, Cat would probably scold him for not verifying Lyanna’s identity, but Ned knew deep within his bones that this shaking, pale thing was his sister, even if she looked so very different from her usual vibrant self.

He quickly ushered her inside out of the cold night, securing the door behind them before leading her to the roaring fire in the sitting room. He lowered them both onto the sofa, and Benjen immediately moved to sit on the other side of Lyanna, looking on helplessly as sobs began to rack her body.

Cat was the first of them to gain the ability to speak, crouching down in front of Lyanna and placing a gentle hand on her knee. “What happened?” she asked as softly as she could.

Lyanna stilled at the question, breath hitching. Ned craned his neck to see her face, her dark, disarrayed hair making it difficult. He could see the visible struggle to get herself under control and mentally cursed their father for his intolerance of tears. His sister should not have to push away her anguish and be strong. Not for them, not for her _family._

She took a deep breath and pushed away from Ned, sitting up straight and closing her eyes for a moment. Opening them, she met each of their eyes before speaking. “Rhaegar is dead.”

Horror and dread welled inside of him. Without Rhaegar, the spirit of resistance against the Dark Lord Aerys Targaryen would die. Rhaegar had rallied the wizards opposing Aerys’s oppressive regime under one banner, had organized them, and had given them what they most desperately needed— _hope_.

“The Ministry will fall within a week,” Benjen predicted grimly. “If it takes that long.”

Cat gave him a sharp look. “We can’t just give up because one man has died.”

Ned shook his head. “Rhaegar gave people the courage to stand up to Aerys. If he hadn’t been Minister of Magic for the past five years, the Ministry would have already fallen.”

“People believed in Rhaegar because of that ridiculous prophecy,” Catelyn scoffed. “And no one even knows what it _says_!” She would have gone on if Lyanna’s quiet voice hadn’t interrupted her.

“I know what it says.” Three sets of eyes turned to her in surprise. “Rhaegar told me.”

Ned furrowed his brow, for the first time connecting Lyanna’s devastated appearance with the shocking news she delivered. It was terrible news, but not something that should have caused his strong sister to practically crumble.

Lyanna’s eyes dropped to her lap, where she fiddled with the sleeve of her robes. “We were… close.”

“Lya…” Benjen whispered, reaching over to grasp her hand. “He’s the one you’ve been seeing.”

It was news to Ned that his sister had been seeing _anyone_ , but he wasn’t surprised Benjen knew. He and Lyanna were twins, after all, and had always been close, especially after their mother had died. 

It also made sense that she would try and keep it from Ned. With their father the man that he was and Rickard traipsing about all over the world, Ned had played a large role in raising them. And an affair with a married man was _definitely_ something Lyanna wouldn’t have wanted him to know about for fear of disappointing him.

“Elia knew about us,” she admitted. “Their marriage had been over for a while. They stayed together to keep Aerys from going after her and the children. Not that it mattered in the end.”

Catelyn gasped. “The children…?” she asked, too horrified to get out the entire question.

“The children were the real threat to him,” Lyanna replied softly, going pale at her own words. “That’s what the prophecy says.”

“Prophecies only have the power people give them by believing them,” her sister-in-law insisted. Ned would have smiled at her vehemence if the situation were less serious. Catelyn had always been stubborn in her refusal to put any stock in Divination.

“Aerys believes it,” Lyanna stated firmly, voice brooking no argument. “It’s why he forced his sister to marry him and bear his children. It’s why he was always a threat to Elia and her children. It’s why—” her voice broke and she looked away.

“Why what?” Ned pressed, sensing that whatever she had been about to say was important.

She took a steadying breath before speaking once more. “The prophecy says that the one to defeat Aerys will be born of his bloodline mixed with another. To stop his children from fulfilling it, he married his sister. When Rhaegar married Elia and had children…”

A cold anger ran through Ned. What kind of man openly fathered children knowing he was giving them a death sentence? He glanced down at Catelyn, thinking of his own unborn son or daughter. If he thought for one second that they would be in danger if he was known as their father, he would do everything in his power to hide and protect them, no matter how much it hurt himself.

Rhaegar had _proudly_ flaunted his children in public. Selfish man.

“My child will never be safe,” Lyanna whispered, stunning them all once more. Ned’s eyes dropped down to his sister’s flat stomach, which she curled her hand over protectively. “He’ll come for them. Ned,” she said pleadingly, looking at him with a childish light in her eyes, as if her older brother could fix this like he had fixed things when they were younger.

Ned wanted to assure her. Wanted to promise her that he would protect both her and her child. Wanted to swear that Aerys would _never_ touch them.

He couldn’t make that promise, though. There was nothing he could do to protect his sister’s child if Aerys found out about them. He would try. Merlin, would he try. But how would he withstand the full might of Aerys’s forces now that the Dark Lord had won the war?

“Aerys will never know about your child,” Cat said firmly, drawing his attention to her. She placed her free hand on her own stomach. “As long as we have a discreet Healer, no one would ever question me having twins.”

Ned’s heart filled with love as he stared at his wife, offering to present another woman’s child as her own, despite the dangers it would bring. Could he really take that risk though, when Aerys might discover the ruse and kill both children in retribution?

Could he really refuse, in the face of Cat’s resolute gaze and Lyanna’s relieved and grateful eyes?

No, he decided, already making plans in his head as to how to make this plan work. Compromises would have to be made, and he would likely have to break a few friendships to really sell parts of the ruse, but he would do it.

He would keep his family safe.


	2. Long Anticipated Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ran into a writer's block with The Hostage Prince and decided I'd update this one instead. Just so you know, there will be a couple of minor changes in the Potter verse for this story. Mostly because I'm eliminating the Legitimancy because mind reading is cheating.

Jon awoke to a shriek a moment before something small and bony jumped on top of him. Grey eyes identical to his own greeted him for only a second before he realized what was happening and brought his hands up in a retaliatory tickle attack.

“Jon!” Arya squealed in protest, twisting away and off the bed before glaring at him. “Don’t do that!”

“Then don’t wake me up by jumping on me,” he retorted, rolling over and turning his back to her. He pulled the covers over his head. “Go bother Robb.”

“Sansa’s waking Robb up,” she said matter-of-factly before yanking the covers away from him. “Now come _on_. We’ve been waiting _forever_ for you both to wake up! We both helped Mum and Aunt Lya with breakfast.”

Jon turned over and scowled. “It’s our birthday. Can’t we at least have a bit of a lie in?”

She folded her arm and glowered as menacingly as a seven year old could. “Not this birthday,” she told him firmly. “Now get up! Oh, and happy birthday!” she added, as if an afterthought, before she turned on her heel and marched out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Jon rolled his eyes, but did get up. Arya was right, after all. This wasn’t just _any_ birthday. This was his and Robb’s _eleventh_ birthday.

Excitement mixed anxiety welled within him as he quickly changed out of his pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Their Hogwarts letters should come today. _Should_ because there was no guarantee that either of them would be accepted into Hogwarts. 

Robb would, he knew. Robb had once thrown a tantrum that had broken Great Aunt Branda’s good china. The old witch had scolded his twin quite vigorously afterwards, railing about how the china had been in her husband’s family for five generations. Robb and Jon had barely made it out of Aunt Branda’s presence before bursting out laughing. 

She hadn’t noticed that Robb’s accidental magic had also turned her hair bright green.

Jon had never had any magical outbursts like that. What if he didn’t have enough magic to get into Hogwarts?

His thoughts were interrupted by his door crashing open and Robb striding in, a bright grin on his face. “Happy birthday!” he crowed in delight, sharing absolutely none of Jon’s own worries.

Jon wished he could be as carefree as his twin. He didn’t even know where Robb got his cheerful demeanor. Certainly not from their parents. Their father, though warm and caring, shared the same serious disposition as Jon. And Jon couldn’t imagine their mother, who was so prim and proper, ever goofing off like Robb.

“Happy birthday!” he repeated with cheer he didn’t really feel. “How does eleven feel to you?”

“Not very different,” Robb answered with a shrug. “But Sansa tells me Mum and Aunt Lya made waffles!”

“We better get down there before they eat it all. Last one there is a flobberworm!” Jon said, dashing around Robb and out the door, grinning at Robb’s cry of indignation. He heard his brother thundering down the stairs after him, but Jon was confident as he increased his speed.

He rounded the corner of the landing to continue his race, but ended up running headlong into something sturdy. A pair of hands gripped his shoulders and kept him from crashing to the ground.

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Jon smiled sheepishly up at his Uncle Benjen. He was thankful he had run into his uncle and not his father. Birthday or not, running in the manor was not technically allowed. He heard Robb’s racing footsteps slow abruptly behind him before his brother came to a stop at his side.

“Sorry, Uncle Benjen,” he said, relaxing as he caught the amusement in his uncle’s eyes. “We were just—”

“Racing,” Benjen stated before he could make up any excuse. “Same as Lya and I used to do. Don’t worry,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Jon and Robb grinned at each other before dashing down the hall towards the staircase to the ground level, leaving Uncle Benjen laughing behind them. 

Even without his head start, Jon edged ahead of his twin, reaching the dining room a heartbeat before Robb and turning to give him a smug look. Robb just rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall, both of them trying to catch their breath before they entered.

It was better to not give their mother a reason to be suspicious after all.

After they had composed themselves, they walked in together.

Aunt Lyanna had been watching the door and was the first to notice them. “Happy birthday!” she exclaimed, jumping up and pulling Jon into a tight embrace, which he returned with just as much exuberance. “I love you, my dear boy,” she murmured before letting go and smiling at him tearily before moving to Robb and giving him the same treatment.

Aunt Lyanna had been a constant in their lives ever since they were babies. Unlike Uncle Benjen, who had his own flat in Belfast, she lived at Winterfell with them. Growing up, she had at times been their nanny, playmate, and tutor. Though Jon loved her dearly, it was very hard to predict her moods. Where one day she would be happy and playful, the next she could be melancholy and gloomy or peaceful and content or anything in between.

“Happy birthday, son,” his father said as Jon took a seat at the table. His siblings followed suit in wishing him a happy day. 

“Thanks,” he said with a pleased smile, helping himself to a waffle and some sausage and dousing it all in syrup.

Robb received the same round of well wishes as he sat down a moment later. He thanked them before looking to their father. “Where’s Mum?”

Before he could answer, though, their mother walked in from the kitchen, little Rickon, still in his pajamas, on her hip. She gave him and Robb a proud smile. “Happy birthday,” she said, holding out two envelopes. “These just arrived.”

Robb shot him an “I told you so” smirk as they both scrambled out of their chairs to take the envelopes from their mother. Of course Robb had known he was worried, even if Jon had never told him. Robb seemed to always know when Jon was worrying about something.

Jon marveled at the glossy purple ink spelling out his name as he took the envelope from his mother, the knot of anxiety that had been twisting in his stomach loosening.

_Jon Stark_  
Second Bedroom on the Left  
Third Floor  
Winterfell   
County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland

He grinned at the absurd specificity of the address before carefully opening the envelope and pulling out the two sheets of parchment inside.

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Present this letter to the wanamaker of your choice as proof of enrollment._

_The Hogwarts Express will depart from Platform 9 3/4 at 11 o’clock in the morning on 1 September. Please be advised that attendance is mandatory by decree of His Magical Eminence, Lord Aerys Targaryen._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Aemon Targaryen  
Headmaster_

Jon ignored the warning that attendance was mandatory. Sure, the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name was ordinarily used to inspire fear, but Jon couldn’t imagine why anymore would ever choose _not_ to attend Hogwarts?

He scanned the list of supplies on the second piece of parchment, thoughtfully considering if he might want an owl or a cat when he reached the part that said he was allowed to have one. It also allowed him to bring a toad, but who would want to bring a _toad_ of all things?

He was still pondering this when Robb exclaimed, “No brooms! How are we supposed to play Quidditch?!?”

Jon shot him a puzzled look before glancing at the list again, noticing the words in all capital letters at the bottom for the first time and sharing in Robb’s outrage.

_PARENTS ARE ADVISED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE ANOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK._

“You don’t need to play Quidditch your first year,” his mother stated firmly, meeting both their incredulous stares without flinching. “You should focus on your studies and _if_ you keep your marks up, _then_ we can discuss you playing Quidditch next year.”

Jon shared an unhappy scowl with Robb. “We can’t study _all_ the time,” he pointed out. “What else are we supposed to do?” He gave their father a pleading look but got only a laugh in return.

“I am confident that you will find activities to occupy your time,” he told them with absolutely no sympathy for their plight. “Now eat your breakfast. When you’re done, we’ll go to Diagon Alley for your supplies.”

Jon grinned at Robb and they both tucked in, anxious to go. Shopping was far from a favorite pastime of theirs, but they were both excited about getting one particular item. _A wand._

 

#

 

It was difficult to keep himself contained as their father tapped the brick on the nondescript wall that opened to reveal Diagon Alley to them. He glanced to his right and saw that Robb was having the same problem. This was far from the first time they had visited the alley that was so central to the UK wizarding community, but this was the first time they were shopping for something so significant.

“So where should we stop first?” Aunt Lyanna asked, giving Jon a smile and a wink.

“Ollivanders!” Jon and Robb answered together, unable to wait any longer.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a teasingly thoughtful expression. “Perhaps we should get your robes first…”

“Aunt Lya…” Robb groaned in dismay.

“Mum, Dad, we can get our wands first, right?” Jon begged their parents.

His mother smiled. “Of course, you can,” she told them.

“Don’t mind your aunt, boys,” their father said as he began leading them down the alley towards the wandshop. “You should have seen her after she had gotten her Hogwarts letter. She barely let me change out of my pajamas before dragging me to Ollivanders.”

“Didn’t your parents bring you?” Robb asked with a confused frown.

“Your grandmother had died two years before that,” Lyanna answered in a carefully composed voice. “And I wanted Ned to take me instead of Father.”

Robb looked at Jon with a stricken expression, both of them aware that he had accidentally touched a subject that neither their father nor their aunt ever wanted to talk about. An awkward silence settled around them as they turned a corner before something caught Jon’s eye and compelled him to break it.

“Why’s that man lying on the street?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he stared at the man in the ratty and filthy robe curled on his side near a potions supply store.

He quickly decided that this question was a mistake, as it caused the adults’ mood to darken even further. Still, he was curious.

“He’s likely wandless,” their father answered shortly.

“Why doesn’t he go get a wand then?” Robb asked. “Just like we are.”

“Even if he could afford one, he’d need special permission to purchase one,” the mother explained with a frown, giving the poor man a look of pity. “Wands may only be purchased with proof of enrollment at Hogwarts or with permission from the Ministry.”

“You mean if we hadn’t gotten into Hogwarts, we’d have to live outside too?” Jon said in alarm, suddenly even _more_ grateful that he had gotten his acceptance letter.

“Of course not!” Aunt Lyanna was quick to assure him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they walked. “Wand or not, we would have made sure you were well taken care of.”

“Then why isn’t anyone taking care of that man?” Robb asked, looking up at their father in consternation.

He sighed as Ollivanders came into sight. “Unfortunately not every one has the protection of a family with the means to shelter them. Now, no more gloomy thoughts,” he said, opening the door to the wandshop. “Time to get your wands.”

They both perked up at that and rushed into the shop, though Jon couldn’t quite shake the memory of the man on the sidewalk.

“Ah, Misters Stark,” a wispy, disembodied voice greeted them. A minute later, an old wizard with pale skin, white hair, and silvery eyes appeared from the backroom and gave them a smile. “I’ve been expecting you. I assume you have your letters.”

Jon wondered if the wandmaker purposefully spoke in such a creepy way to further the mystical reputation of his shop. If he did, Jon decided it was a bad tactic, as it almost made him want to leave and be anywhere else. If it weren’t for the promise of a wand, he might’ve.

“Now, who’s first?” the old man asked after examining the letters their father gave him, peering between Jon and Robb with a placid smile.

Jon hung back and let his brother go first. Robb shot him a knowing look but stepped forward anyway.

“Ah, it’s Robb, isn’t it?” Ollivander asked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered proudly. He started when a tape measurer flew out and began measuring him.

“Excellent,” he murmured, turning to pull a long, thin box off of a nearby shelf. He turned back towards Robb and waved the measuring tape away from where it was measuring Robb’s ear. “Now, which is your wand arm?”

“My right,” Robb said, rubbing at his ear. He held out his hand for the wand Ollivander offered, but had barely touched it before it was taken away.

“Not this one,” he announced, reaching for another. This one, too, was pulled away almost immediately from Robb’s grasp. “Definitely not.”

This seemed to go on forever as Robb tried wand after wand. Jon could see his brother growing more and more impatient even as Ollivander became more gleeful. Just as Jon was sure Robb’s patient was reaching its end, Robb was handed a wand that looked white and silvery grey sparks spurted out.

“Aha!” Ollivander cried in triumphant. “Aspen wood, twelve inches, with a phoenix feather core. A versatile wand particularly suited for dueling. The wand of a true revolutionary.”

Robb grinned at Jon and missed the queer look their parents gave each other. Jon stepped forward in apprehension, still puzzling over the look and hoping that finding his own wand wouldn’t take nearly as long.

Of course, his hopes were dashed as Ollivander brought out wand after wand for him to try and none reacted to him. This went on even longer than it did with Robb, and Jon was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t find a wand to choose him.

“Figures you’d be more picky than me,” Robb remarked with a smirk.

“Well I can’t let you beat me,” he shot back with a humor he didn’t feel. He appreciated Robb trying to loosen him up all the same.

“Ah, let’s see about this one,” Ollivander said, handing Jon a wand made of pale wood.

A warm rush of power ran through him as soon as his fingers wrapped around it, and red and black sparks shot out of its tip.

“Very good!” the wandmaker exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in delight. “What a marvelous pairing! Rosewood, twelve inches, with a dragon heartstring core. A powerful wand for a wizard with high aim and ideals.” Jon frowned, sure there had been a mistake because he certainly didn’t have high aim or ideals, but Ollivander continued, “Perfectly balanced with a wood highly resistant to the Dark Arts and a core highly susceptible.”

Jon took a step back at that, looking down at his wand in mystification, not wanting his wand associated in _any_ way with the Dark Arts.

“I’m sure _my son_ will have no need to either resist or succumb to the Dark Arts,” his mother said cooly, giving Ollivander a hard look.

The old wandmaker did not back down. “These days, everyone’s sons must make the choice whether to resist or succumb to the Dark Arts. There can be no neutral anymore,” he said, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Not at age eleven,” his father said firmly. “Now, how much do we owe you for the wands?”

Jon clutched his wand and stepped back towards Robb as their father paid.

“That was weird,” Robb muttered.

He nodded. By unspoken agreement, though, they didn’t question their parents or aunt after they left the store. They had had enough awkward conversations for one day. Instead, they convinced them to get ice cream at Fortesque’s Ice Cream Parlour before they continued their shopping.

They didn’t mention the weirdness of the day again until that night, when Robb snuck into Jon’s room so they could whisper in secret under the covers.

“Do you think Mr. Ollivander was right?” Jon asked, worrying his bottom lip. “Do you think we’ll have to choose a side?”

Robb scoffed. “That man is batty,” he declared. “Mum and Dad have been neutral since Aerys took power, and they fought against him in the war. Why would he let them be neutral and not let us?”

Jon nodded uncertainly. “But Uncle Benjen once said that they had to give up a lot be able to stay neutral.”

“When?” his twin asked, screwing up his face as he tried to remember.

“You weren’t there,” he told him. “It was last summer. Mum had us cleaning after she caught us trying to scare Sansa with a grasshopper.” Whenever they were punished, their parents separated them, believing they would make more mischief if they were together. “I was cleaning outside of Dad’s office and overheard him talking with Uncle Benjen and Aunt Lyanna. They were worried about the Ministry.”

Robb pursed his lips. “Well, still. It’s not like we’d have to worry about any of that, right? I’m sure we won’t have to declare either for Aerys or the rebels the moment we step foot in Hogwarts! And no one’s going to care about a couple of first years.”

That put Jon’s mind at ease. “You’re right,” he said.

“Course I am,” he replied with a grin. “I”m always right.”


End file.
